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[For purists, the Italian text of the poems follows the English translation.]

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO, 1313-1375

Notes and translation by Lorna de’ Lucchi

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Biographical Note

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO (Giovanni di Boccaccio da Chellino), born at Paris, the son of a Florentine merchant. He came to Florence at an early age, studied commerce in Naples, but soon abandoned this for literature. About 1334 or 1338 he fell in love with Maria d’ Aquino, a natural daughter of King Robert of Naples, who, as “Fiammetta,” inspired a number of his works. In 1349, on his father’s death, he returned to Florence, where he entertained Petrarch, with whom he formed a close friendship. About 1362 he was so influenced by a priest called Gioacchino Ciani as completely to change his moral views and mode of life. In 1373 he read and commented in public the Divina Commedia. His chief works are, in Italian: the Rime, the Amorosa Visione, Filostrato, Teseide, and the Ninfale Fiesolano (verse). In prose: Filocolo, Ameto, Fiammetta, Corbaccio, the Vita di Dante, followed by his Commento sopra la Commedia, and finally the Decameron, which reveals him creator
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of Italian prose and is his greatest title to fame. He wrote, in Latin: De casibus virorum illustrium, De claris mulieribus, the Bucolicon in 17 Eclogues, and the De genealogiis in 15 books.

Poems

91

GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO, 1313-1375

Ballata

I AM young and fain to sing
In this happy tide of spring
Of love and many a gentle thing,
I wander through green meadows dight
With blossoms gold and red and white;
Rose by the thorn and lily fair,
Both one and all I do compare
With him who, worshipping my charms,
For aye would fold me in his arms
As one unto his service sworn.
Then, when I find a flower that seems
Like to the object of my dreams,
I gather it and kiss it there,
I flatter it in accents fair,
My heart outpour, my soul stoop down,
Then weave it in a fragrant crown
Among my flaxen locks to wear.
The rapture nature’s floweret gay
Awakes in me doth last alway,
As if I tarried face to face
With him whose true love is my grace;
Thoughts which its fragrancy inspires
I cannot frame to my desires,
My sighs their pilgrimage do trace.
My sights are neither harsh nor sad
As other women’s are, but glad
And tender; in so fond a wise
They seek my love that he replies
By coming hither, and so gives
Delight to her who in him lives
Yet almost wept: “Come, for hope dies.”

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Sonetto

BESIDE a fountain in a little grove
That fresh green fronds and pretty flowers did grace,
Three maidens sat and talked methinks of love.
Mid golden locks, o’ershadowing each sweet face,
For coolness was entwined a leaf-green spray,
And all the while a gentle zephyr played
Through green and golden in a tender way,
Weaving a web of sunshine and of shade.
After a while, unto the other two
One spoke, and I could hear her words: “Think you
That if our lovers were to happen by
We would all run away for very fright?”
The others answered her: “From such delight
She were a little fool who’d wish to fly!”